Ironing Out
by GreyGregory14
Summary: When Murdock and Face are at odds over someone they both care deeply about, what will it take to get their friendship back?


_I wrote this a while ago, long before I was a member here. This story takes place after the A-Team have received their pardons from Stockwell and are currently living normal (for them) lives. That's why I've written Murdock with his somewhat sane, 5th-season personality with a hint of craziness here and there. The story is set in more modern times (if the references to cell phones, CDs, and DVDs don't tip you off) because I was not around for the 80s and didn't want to get complicated with what could and couldn't be included (this isn't Battlestar Galactica, after all). Anyway, hope you enjoy the story!_

_Thanks to pinar-x for the review. I have updated the story with a slight change based on your suggestion._

Ironing Out

The shirt collar just needed a touch of starch to reach perfection. There. One more swipe of the iron, and even Face wouldn't be able to criticize.

Murdock sighed. He and Face hadn't spoken for a week now, ever since Murdock had dropped the bomb about being engaged to Ellen. After months of correspondence and weeks of dating, all a carefully kept secret, H.M. Murdock and Ellen Bancroft had decided that they were perfect for each other. Murdock found consistent support in Ellen's steady temperament, while Ellen's serious outlook was relieved by Murdock's unconventional sense of humor. Even when she was unhappy, even when they disagreed, in the end he always managed to make her laugh. And Murdock could trust Ellen to always be there for him when he needed to know someone was on his side. Add to that the fact that the wedding would solidify the family of the brother and friend who was so important to them, and it seemed the perfect match. After the engagement, the second thing that Murdock had been excited about was telling Face, knowing how happy the news would make him.

Except that it didn't. The afternoon Murdock got back home from his engagement trip, he stopped in at Face's house to find Face rather irritable after coming home from a lunch date which apparently hadn't gone so well. But Murdock had the perfect news to make Face feel better. He told Face that he was engaged, and the girl's name was Ellen Bancroft.

Face's initial look of shock had transformed into anger before Murdock's eyes. After several exclamations of surprise, he said heatedly that Murdock hadn't asked him for his permission to marry Ellen, and he refused to give it. Murdock protested that they were adults and didn't need anyone's permission. The conversation escalated, Face calling Murdock an irresponsible, certifiable maniac, Murdock calling Face a selfish, egotistical jerk, until Face lunged forward and grabbed at Murdock's shoulder. Murdock threw his hands off and backed away.

"No, Face," he said, breathing hard. "I don't want to fight you, because the way I feel right now . . . I might hurt you."

"Well, that's fine by me – I'll just hurt you back," said Face, taking a fighting stance.

"No, Face, don't make me," said Murdock, with an effort. "I don't _want_ to hurt you."

Face broke eye contact and stared at the ground. "Fine," he said after a moment, still looking at the floor. "Then leave. Now!" Murdock trudged to the door and slammed it behind him. After he got in his car, he sat there for several minutes, deflated, before starting the engine and driving home.

Over the next week, Murdock repented many times for what had happened. No matter where he went or what he did, he always heard the cruel words – sometimes Face's, but most often his own. Countless times he called to apologize, but Face never answered. A few times he even stopped by Face's house, usually bearing a peace offering like a bucket of chicken wings or a couple of double-stacked burgers, but Face never came to the door either. At this point, Murdock would normally ask the Colonel for a little help getting through to Face, but Hannibal was currently in Chicago filming _Aquamaniac 4_ in Lake Michigan, and B.A. had gone with him to visit Momma Baracus. Murdock's only hope was the VIP dinner party at the Radisson that night. A couple of weeks ago, Face had scrounged an invitation and a date, but the girl wanted a date for her friend as well. So Face had asked Murdock to do the honors, and Murdock got permission from Ellen to do it as a favor for Face. Murdock was thankful Face hadn't backed out of the appointment, but deep down he suspected the only thing preventing him was a gentlemanly obligation to the girls they were accompanying – or perhaps the promise of exceptional hors d'oeuvres.

Murdock sighed again. It was beginning to look like a lost cause. All the other times he and Face had fought, they had made up after a couple of minutes, hours, or maybe a day. But this time, it was different. It was the worst argument they had ever had, centered around someone who meant a lot to both of them. Perhaps this time, friendship just wasn't enough to solve the problem.

The Doctor Who theme song blaring out of his pocket startled Murdock. He jerked backwards, and the iron dropped from his hand and plummeted to the floor with a thud, face down. He hurriedly picked it up and set it on the ironing board again, hoping he was in time to prevent a melted impression in the carpet. When he pulled out his phone at last, his expression of pain relaxed as he saw the name of Templeton Peck.

"Hiya Face, what's up?" he answered, trying not to sound too excited.

"Hey Murdock," the voice on the other end croaked halfheartedly. "I was just wondering if you could call Natasha for me and tell her I can't make it to the dinner tonight. I've got the flu."

"It's Natalie," Murdock corrected as his heart sank, and he grunted in disgust. "Come on, Face, this isn't funny. You can't walk out on the girls just because you don't want to see me. Besides, pretending to be sick is the oldest trick in the book." And if anyone could pull it off convincingly, it would be Face.

"Murdock . . ." Face broke off, coughing. "Look," he continued hoarsely, talking several pitches lower than usual, "do you seriously think I would try to get out of having dinner at the Radisson? I would love to go, but there's no way I possibly can."

"Uh huh," said Murdock without enthusiasm. He'd seen Face do scams like this over the phone before.

"Oh, you're going to make me spell it out, aren't you," Face complained. "All right, here goes: I've got a temperature of 102 and a splitting headache, I'm completely clogged up, my nose is running like the Fontana di Tivoli, I'm too exhausted to move – the works. Trust me, if I was crazy enough to try to go, they'd throw me out like yesterday's garbage."

Murdock rolled his eyes, still suspicious. "So explain why you . . ."

"Hold on a second," Face interrupted. There was a rustling noise which sounded like the phone being set down on a hard surface. Even after this precaution, Murdock could still clearly hear three explosive sneezes, followed by moans of annoyance and a prolonged nose-blowing session. At last, the phone was picked up again and Face sniffed, "Okay, I'm back."

Murdock was convinced. "You know, you really don't sound too good, Faceman."

"Tell me about it," he sighed.

"Are you okay? Have you eaten anything?"

"Well, I didn't feel like making breakfast, but I got a pizza delivered for lunch which I couldn't work up the courage to actually eat, so now it's rotting on my kitchen table."

"What have you been doing?"

"Lying on the couch in front of the TV," Face groaned. "I've been here all afternoon; actually, make that all day. At first I didn't think there was anything good on, until I found one channel that has a fascinating snowstorm, so I watched that for a while. And then I figured out that if I pressed the red button at the top of the remote, I could get this soothing channel of black silence, and I've been enjoying that ever since."

"Hey, are you sure you're okay? You're starting to sound kind of like – well, like me."

Face laughed. "Yeah, I think I'm kind of high right now because of the meds I've been taking. Or maybe I'm delirious. Maybe that's not actually you on the phone, and I'm talking to nobody. Wouldn't that be funny." He cracked up, then choked and started coughing.

"Face!" Murdock was getting worried. Even on the few occasions he remembered his friend being truly sick, Face had never been this distracted.

"Oh, sorry. So, uh . . . what were we talking about?"

"You wanted me to tell Natalie you couldn't make it tonight."

"Oh yeah." Face laughed again. "Yeah, it'd be great if you'd do that for me. Right now there's a slim chance that I could take her out some other time, but if I tried calling her now, it would probably, you know, freak her out. Because I'm kind of starting to freak myself out. I mean, I keep getting songs stuck in my head, but I can't remember all of the words, and I start dreaming while I'm still awake, and – I feel like I might be going crazy, or something." He coughed. "Um . . . what do you think?"

Murdock laughed. "Well, in my experienced opinion, I think you're just a little loopy because you're sick. Happens to everybody. Actually, when I'm sick, I hear the same movie lines over and over in my head, and I laugh hysterically at everything. Not much you can do about it except try to sleep. Speaking of which, how much sleep have you been getting?"

"Not much. All the coughing has been keeping me awake, and when I finally fall asleep I have these really weird dreams. So I've basically been lying here all day shooting baskets at the trashcan and making mental notes of everything that needs remodeling around here. Intense stuff."

"Hmm." A thought came to him, and Murdock grinned. "Face, you're in luck. I just had a brilliant idea. But please hold the applause until I'm finished."

"Murdock."

"Sorry. Okay, so, as the Colonel would say, here's the plan: I'll call Natalie and Theresa and cancel our dinner date. Then I'll whip us up some good ol' chicken soup and bring it over to your house for dinner, and maybe a movie or two. We can have a guys' night in."

"Aw, Murdock, you don't have to do that. I mean, you can still go out and have a nice time with Melissa. You don't want to disappoint her, do you?"

"Yeah, it's a tough choice, but I think I'll have more fun with you," said Murdock playfully. "Besides, you don't sound good, and I don't like the idea of you being left all alone the way you are right now."

"But Murdock . . ."

"No, I want to do this, Face. So you just relax now while I call the girls and fix the soup, and I'll be over in about half an hour. Okay?"

Face sighed. "Okay."

"Good. See you soon." Murdock hung up the phone, put his freshly starched tuxedo shirt on a hanger, and marched downstairs whistling.

Half an hour later, he was ringing Face's doorbell, a warm Crockpot in one hand, a duffel bag in the other. The smell of chicken soup was leaking through the edges of the Crockpot, and Murdock's stomach growled. As he waited, he felt a vague fear that this time would be just like all the other times, and he would walk away disappointed. He resisted the urge to press the doorbell again.

After a long minute, the door opened and Face appeared, wearing a brown bathrobe over wrinkled cotton pajamas. "Hey Murdock," he rasped, giving a feeble smile. "Come on in." Murdock followed him inside, biting his lip with concern. It didn't take a detective to see from his pale color, watery eyes, sagging posture, and hair that was trying to lay three directions at once, that Face was nowhere near mint condition. Murdock tried not to let his expression betray his thoughts, knowing how Face hated to be seen if he was sick with just a cold. The fact that he'd let Murdock come over at all was a relief, but not a good sign.

The inside of the house told more tales. It was hard for Murdock to believe this was the same living room where he and Face had had their argument last week. Now a pile of dirty cups and dishes, a water bottle, a box of tissues, and a package of cold and flu medicine adorned the coffee table in front of the couch. The couch itself was covered with an array of pillows and a heavy blanket, which were in the process of migrating to the floor. A few magazines and books were scattered strategically on the ground to trip up intruders, and the trashcan was erupting crumpled tissues, water bottles, and an empty tissue box into the surrounding area. To top it all off, the smell of lukewarm pizza seeped in from the kitchen, temporarily stealing Murdock's appetite.

Murdock stood a few steps inside the door, taking it all in. Face glanced at him. "Oh, yeah, sorry about the mess." He dropped his robe on the floor and quickly slid onto the couch and under the blanket, shivering. "I just, you know, haven't really felt up to tackling it yet."

This was coming from a guy who was almost obsessive-compulsively neat. "How long have you been sick, Face?" asked Murdock in amazement.

Face groaned. "I think it started three days ago – no, actually, make that four – and it's just gotten worse and worse."

"Then why didn't you . . ." Murdock stopped himself. "Never mind. You just sit back and relax, and I'll get us some bowls and spoons from the kitchen so we can have our soup while it's hot. I promise it doesn't have any peppers in it." He was relieved to get a tiny grin out of Face, and he chuckled to himself as he remembered the quiche he had tried on the guys once in which he had accidentally replaced the green peppers the recipe called for with jalapenos. Needless to say, that had been a day to remember.

Murdock set down the duffel, carried the Crockpot to the kitchen, and came back to collect the stack of overdue dishes from the coffee table. "What's in the bag?" Face asked.

"Fun stuff," Murdock replied. In an Italian accent he said, "We's a-gonna have-a the night of our lives, _amico_!"

After dumping the ripening pizza in the garbage can outside, box and all, he returned briefly to extract a CD player and a CD from the duffel. By the time he was back in the kitchen, classical Italian opera was wafting through the house.

"This is putting me to sleep, Murdock," Face complained.

"No, no, you can't sleep until you've had-a the soup," Murdock called. He reappeared carrying two steaming bowls of chicken soup and two spoons, with a box of Saltine crackers and a roll of paper towels under each arm.

"Here you go, Signor," handing Face the soup and a spoon, "it has-a the noodles and everything. I think you will find it _buono_."

"Murdock, what's with the Italian?" asked Face irritably.

"Well, you inspired me when you said something about the Fontana du Tony on the phone," said Murdock, ripping off a couple of paper towels and dropping them in Face's lap.

Face sneezed. "It's the Fontana di Tivoli," he corrected, "and would you mind sticking to English? My head's already swimming like an aquarium."

"Oh, sure. Guess I should've made fish soup instead."

Face rolled his eyes, and Murdock handed him a few crackers. The rest of the meal was quiet, both of them making quick work of the soup.

"That wasn't too bad," said Face, handing Murdock his empty bowl. "I didn't know you could cook like that."

Murdock snickered as he thought of the can he'd taken from his pantry and heated up before he left. "It's a special recipe from the master chef Signor Progresso."

"Oh. I was wondering how you made it so fast; but I guess Progresso did ninety percent of the work already. You're a cheap cook, Murdock."

"I didn't know you were paying me," Murdock called over his shoulder, carrying the empty bowls, crackers, and paper towels back to the kitchen.

"I'm not," Face called back. "But it's still cheap. You gave me the soup under false pretenses. I thought you'd slaved over it for half an hour just for me." He picked up the medicine package from the table, extracted two caplets, and swallowed them with water.

"Then I'm surprised you still ate it," Murdock grinned, returning. Unplugging the CD player from the wall, he carried it back to the duffel.

"Well, I thought it couldn't be any worse than a greasy pizza," said Face. He blew his nose violently and then tossed the tissue at the trash can. It landed three feet away. "So, what are we going to do now?"

"If you're up to it, we could play a game. I brought Battleship, Stratego, Monopoly . . ."

"You got a deck of cards?"

"Nope, no way," said Murdock. "One, we are not passing cards as long as you're sick, and two, I'd refuse to play cards with you regardless. There's a little too much sleight of hand involved."

"Aw, really? Even if I promised to let you win?" Face grinned.

"Sleight of hand again." Murdock shook his head. "I prefer victory as the result of pure skill," he declared in a manner resembling Peter O'Toole's.

"Beating the odds takes skill."

"Unless you've already rigged the odds in your favor." Face tilted his head, acknowledging the point. "So," said Murdock, "what'll it be?"

After a few rounds of Battleship and a crossword puzzle, Face started to look rather tired. "Did you say something about a movie?" he hinted.

Murdock pulled a pile of DVDs from the duffel bag and fanned them out dramatically. "Ta-da!" He put on his announcer voice. "Howling Mad Murdock's Movie Mania, tonight on your local network. Select your entertainment from the finest collection of classic media in the nation, all within the comforts of your own living room. What will be the pick of the night?"

Murdock put in "Where Eagles Dare" at Face's request and watched it with him until halfway through the movie Face's eyes closed, his mouth fell open, and he began snoring lightly. At that point, Murdock slipped into the kitchen to wash and put away all the dishes, then tiptoed around the house, cleaning up.

When Face woke up again sometime after the end of the movie, he found that it had gotten dark, and all the lights were out except for one in the kitchen. The first thing he saw was Murdock, sprawled in the recliner like a rag doll, fast asleep. Next, he saw a room completely transformed. All the trash was gone, the magazines were stacked neatly on the coffee table, and his robe sat folded on an empty chair.

"You're a great guy, Murdock," he whispered. Briefly, he deliberated over whether he should wake Murdock up to get another movie or get it himself. He hesitated to go through Murdock's stuff, but the only alternatives were disturbing Murdock's well-earned rest or lying awake in the dark. Neither idea appealed to him, and after having dinner and a nap he felt a lot better, or at least well enough to get up for a few minutes. Putting his years of conning experience into practice, he eased noiselessly off the couch and crept over to look inside the bag. But what he saw surprised him. Underneath the games and movies were a set of clothes, some shoes, and a bag of toiletries. It looked like Murdock was planning to stay!

And what were these envelopes on top of the clothes? Face picked them up, squinting in the half-light at the return address on the top one, and did a double-take. The sender's name was Ellen Bancroft. These were letters from his sister.

Setting the pile on his lap, Face opened the first envelope and gently pulled out the letter, taking care that the pages didn't crackle. Curious, yet apprehensive, he skimmed the letter's contents, growing more and more amazed as his sister's words revealed hidden depths, even a sense of humor, which her reticent personality had kept from him, yet freely given to Murdock, of all people. Face didn't know whether to be fascinated or furious.

Suddenly, he felt the irritation in his throat that signaled a cough. He closed his mouth and tried to keep it in, but that only made it worse. Lunging for his water bottle, he took a drink, but merely choked on the water, losing all possibility of keeping quiet. The noise inevitably woke Murdock, and he turned on the standing lamp, blinked a few times, and stared at Face, who was still crouched on the floor and coughing loudly.

"Face, what in the world are you doing?"

"Why, enjoying the view, of course," Face quipped once he caught his breath. "Actually, I was just looking for a movie."

"You could've asked me to get it instead of going through my stuff. Now I'm gonna have to disinfect everything," Murdock joked, getting up and walking towards the duffel bag. The letters were still on the floor where Face had dropped them. Face had just opened his mouth with an excuse to keep Murdock away when the letters caught Murdock's eye.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing with those?!" he exclaimed, leaping forward to snatch up the letters. "You have absolutely no right to look at other people's personal mail!" Murdock's eyes flashed with an anger Face had almost never seen before in his friend, especially directed at himself. He found it disconcerting.

"Well, I'm sorry . . ." he floundered, "I mean, I wasn't trying . . . um, actually, you see . . ."

"Oh, just stop it, Face," Murdock shouted, "stop trying to con me!"

"What?" Face was taken aback. "What are you talking about? I'm not trying to . . ."

"Oh yes you are. I'm not stupid; I know exactly what you're doing. You pretend everything's okay, and you even let me come over to your house while you're sick because you think I'll feel sorry for you, but all you're doing is looking for another opportunity to tell me I can't marry Ellen. Every single conversation we have, you're trying to manipulate me, trying to get me to respond the way you want me to because you think I'm a pushover."

Face gaped, speechless. Where on earth had Murdock gotten such an idea? It hadn't been discreet of Face to read Murdock's love letters, true, but he had no idea how that translated to him trying to manipulate his friend. And he'd almost forgotten about their argument last week, and since Murdock hadn't said anything, he'd thought that it was all water under the bridge and decided not to mention it either.

"Lies, lies, lies," Murdock waved the letters to emphasize each repetition, "you live on lies. Your whole life is a lie. But for some reason I thought . . . that when you were with me, you weren't lying anymore. I guess I was wrong."

Murdock looked at the floor, momentarily losing steam. Then he jerked his head up again. "Well," he spat, "let me tell you that just because I'm a nice guy doesn't make me a pushover. I'm sick and tired of you taking advantage of me and treating me like I'm second-rate. Just because I can't sweet-talk everybody like you do doesn't mean I have no social life, and just because I'm not the resident expert on women doesn't mean I can't have a meaningful relationship with somebody. Ellen and I love each other and we're gonna get married, and if you don't like it, then just stay out of it, okay?"

Face felt confused, hurt, and guilty all at the same time. He stood to his feet. "Murdock, I . . ." Gray mist floated before his eyes, obscuring his vision; he'd gotten up too fast. Losing all sense of balance, he fumbled for something to support himself on before he tipped over.

Suddenly, he felt another, cooler hand grip his own to steady him. "Hey, take it easy," said Murdock, his other hand coming out to support Face's elbow. "You shouldn't be up. How about you just lie down, and then we'll get this all straightened out." Murdock helped Face get back onto the couch, then resumed his seat in the recliner.

Leaning back and clasping his forehead in his hand, Murdock exhaled heavily. "I'm sorry, Face," he murmured, averting his gaze. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. You didn't really deserve it, and you're sick, and . . . I don't know what got into me."

"Eh, that's okay. I understand," Face shrugged. "I mean, where women are concerned, things tend to get a little, uh, confusing, anyway."

"Yeah, but that still doesn't justify what I said," Murdock insisted.

"Well, you were right that I shouldn't have been going through your stuff, and I'm sorry. But you did make some pretty serious accusations. Look, most of the strain in any given relationship comes from a lack of communication. If there's a problem, we need talk about it, get it fixed. So . . . is there a problem?"

Murdock shook his head. "Nah. I just got a little worked up."

"Murdock! You just complained to me that I always try to con you, and now you're trying to con me! There is a problem, because I know you, and you wouldn't have said what you said if you didn't believe it, or at least part of it. So what's the matter?"

"I-I don't think we should talk about it right now, since you almost passed out. You should get some more rest."

"I didn't almost pass out, I just got up too fast," Face protested, taking a drink of water to extinguish a cough just in time. "And I won't be able to rest if I'm worrying that there's something you're not telling me. So start talking!"

Murdock gave a half-smile. "Man, you make me feel like I'm back on the ol' couch talking to Dr. Richter again." He took off his cap and started rubbing it between his hands. "Well . . . to start off, I've been kind of nervous about our relationship – you know, Ellen's and mine. It was completely unexpected, and kind of sudden. At first I just wrote her to keep her updated about what we, and specifically you, were doing. And she seemed to like it – the letters, I mean, and I liked hearing from her, so I asked her if I could drop by some time and we could chat about Boswell and caviar and why the moon turns orange some nights of the year. And I did, and it went so well, we kind of unofficially got serious and started getting together when we could and writing and calling the rest of the time. One day I thought, 'I wonder if Ellen would want to get married.' As far as I could tell, we seemed perfect for each other, and it couldn't hurt to ask. So I asked, and she said yes, and now we're engaged."

Face nodded slowly. Murdock shifted a little. "You know, I've gone out with a few girls in the past, but nothing ever worked out. And, well, you didn't seem to have any problem getting girls to like _you_, so I thought maybe there was just something wrong with _me_. Then I finally meet the girl of my dreams, and it looks like things will actually work this time, and I get all excited about telling you that I finally got a girl . . . and you just throw cold water on the whole thing."

Face grimaced and started chewing his lip, but Murdock didn't notice. He laughed."You know I couldn't care less about what most people think, but you're one of my best friends, so you're an exception. I've always admired how good you are at what you do, and I like tagging along on scams or double dates or party crashing just to see you in action. Sometimes I've tried to imitate you . . . ." A memory of the time he'd worn a suit just like Face's and finagled a date away from his friend made him smile involuntarily. The fact that Face had then put on Murdock's jacket and cap and done his own impression of Murdock only to be carted off to the V.A. hospital was an added bonus.

"But it never seems to come out quite right," Murdock continued, returning to his original train of thought. "You've always been the successful one, the popular one, and I just point you out to people and say, 'Yeah, I'm that guy's friend.'"

Face was now giving Murdock his absolute undivided attention. He'd never heard Murdock talk like this before, and was beginning to feel that his ideas about his friend might be missing a few important pieces.

"So when you tell me I can't get married, I start wondering if you're right, because you're the expert, and you would know what you're talking about. And then I realize that it's just another one of your scams. It seems like whenever I go with you, you keep me playing second fiddle and make me feel like I don't know anything, just so I'll do whatever you tell me. Now I don't mind you having your . . . abilities, and me having mine, but I don't like to have it constantly implied that mine aren't good enough just 'cause they're different. They're good enough for Ellen, and they're good enough for me, so I wish you would stop trying to compare my social skills and success level to yours and just let me do the best I can with what I've got. I think I deserve that much respect."

Murdock glanced up to see Face frowning in thought. It was another minute before he spoke.

"Murdock," he said slowly, "I can't believe that you think I'm always – judging _you_ by what _I'm_ like."

He shrugged."I don't know, maybe that's what it looks like to you, but if I'm doing that, it's not on purpose. I know that we're two different people, and it's true that I can do some things you can't, but there are so many things you can do better than me. You're quick to recognize when someone has a need, and you do whatever you can to help. People can count on you, because you really care about them, and they know that."

"Yeah?"

"It's true. In fact, I've always been a little jealous of you, because you don't have to fake stuff for people; you get along fine by just being yourself."

Murdock gave him a quizzical look. "What do you mean, 'fake stuff for people'?"

Face looked as if he regretted his statement. "Well . . ." He searched for the right words. "I don't know; I guess I've always struggled with feeling real . . . concern for others. Maybe it was the way I grew up always looking out for myself since I knew no one else was going to do it for me, but I think it's also the way I'm made. The only reason what happens to other people matters to me is because I want it to matter. And people think you're demented or a narcissist if you don't display certain basic emotions – like compassion, and remorse – that show you realize you're a member of the human race. So early on I learned to, you know, act out that sort of thing, even if it wasn't genuine, so I could stay within the realm of socially acceptable behavior."

He laughed. "Eventually I realized I had a knack for simulating emotions and telling people what they wanted to hear. I'd been doing it for so long to survive, it took me a while to recognize that other people didn't think the way I thought and couldn't do what I did. But that ability and the way I could detach from normal feelings of sympathy made it, well, unbelievably easy for me to start conning for a living."

Face coughed. "The point being, see, that I can fake relationships for the short term, but it's harder for me to have a permanent, um, _unselfish_ interest in other people. And when I do, they still don't always understand. I can read people like triple-size font, so I'm usually able to figure out what kind of responses I can portray for them to identify with. But I still have to be careful, because I can also use that knowledge to hit all of a person's particular weak spots which are so obvious to me. I learned the hard way how destructive that could be."

He fell silent. Murdock spoke up. "You mean, that's why you sometimes act – indifferent?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that. I mean, when I do what you call making you play second fiddle, I'm really not trying to make you feel inferior or stupid; I guess I just get comfortable and forget to keep checking things from your perspective. I take it for granted that you know what I'm really thinking, that I still like you even when I'm . . . preoccupied." He gave a derisive laugh. "Like you said, sometimes I'm a selfish, egotistical jerk."

"Now hold on just a minute," Murdock protested, "that is not true at all! I was mad when I said that, and I didn't have the big picture, so you can't just swallow it whole. You're one of the best friends I've ever had, and I can see that even more now that I understand the way you act a little better. That's why it's such a big deal what you think about Ellen and me, not even because you're her brother, but because you're my friend."

Face gave a reluctant smile. "Well, the reason I said what I said was . . . kind of silly. I'd just gotten home from a date that totally flopped, and you came in fresh from your trip, looking like you owned the world. And then you told me you were getting married to my sister. Not only was I maybe, um, a little jealous, but I was disappointed that you hadn't even mentioned to me that you were interested in her. I would've thought I'd be the first to know, but you didn't say a word until it was all signed and sealed. It was kind of a . . . a letdown."

Now it was Murdock's turn to feel guilty. "I guess you did have a right to know. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. It's just that the whole thing was so unexpected, and I wasn't sure it would go through, so I didn't want to get your hopes up. I'd do it differently next time."

Face nodded. Murdock raised his eyebrows. "So, is that the only real objection you had? All that stuff about just getting out of the psychiatric ward . . .?"

"Look, Murdock, forget I said all that, okay? I didn't mean it. I think you and Ellen could be happy together."

"Thanks. So, does that mean you'll be my best man?"

"Well, I don't know if I can. I mean, somebody has to walk Ellen down the aisle."

"You can do that and then come be my best man. I want to ask Hannibal and B.A. too, but it wouldn't be the same without you. Please?"

"Ah . . . I suppose. On one condition: I'm not the one who gets elected to find B.A. a suit."

Murdock laughed. "I'm sure it can be arranged, old chap," he said in a British accent. He suddenly frowned. "One more thing: why wouldn't you talk to me at all until today?"

Face looked surprised. "What do you mean?"

"I kept calling and calling, but you didn't answer your phone. I even visited your house a couple times, but you didn't answer then either."

Face's mouth dropped open. "Murdock, I wasn't even home! After you told me about being engaged to Ellen, I decided to go visit her and, you know, get her side of the story. So I flew up for a couple days, and when I got there I found out my cell phone had died, and on the way back I started getting sick, so I never got around to buying a new phone. I called you from my home phone tonight. And I haven't been answering the door unless I was expecting something, since I wasn't really in the mood to fend off solicitors."

He coughed. "So you thought I was ignoring you the whole time? You thought I was still mad at you?"

"Yeah," Murdock laughed. "Wow, that clears up a lot."

"I guess I should start practicing good communication before I preach it," Face said wryly. "I can't believe that happened – I had no idea."

"Don't worry about it. I'm glad it was just a misunderstanding. And if I'd known you were sick, I would've come over sooner . . . if you had let me. Why _did_ you let me come over?"

Face shrugged. "Well, after seeing only delivery guys for four days, it got kind of boring having no one to talk to. And, to be honest, you were the only person I could think of whom I wouldn't mind talking to at the moment anyway." He sneezed twice. "Now," he said, yanking out a handful of tissues, "I think it was a good call."

"You might not be so glad I came," said Murdock, "because right now I'm gonna tell you it's time to go back to bed. But I'll be nice and put on another movie to help you fall asleep." He stood up, stretched, and went to start digging in the duffel bag.

"How long are you going to stay?" Face asked.

"How long are you planning to be sick?" Murdock countered.

Face sniffed. "Well, judging from the progress of this thing, I'm hoping the worst is almost over and I can get back to business in a few more days. Of course, I'll probably sound like a foghorn for another week or two, so I might have to miss a few dates and scam opportunities. On second thought, I may end up completely rearranging my schedule for the next month." He sighed. "I hate being sick."

Murdock shook his head at his friend's typical melodrama. "Pick a movie," he said, holding out the stack.

Face examined the options. "Hmm . . . I don't know. You pick."

Murdock pulled out "The Maltese Falcon" with a flourish, saying, "This, my friend, is a real classic."

Face rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that will definitely put me to sleep." Murdock merely smiled, walked over to the TV, and knelt down to put the disc in the DVD player.

"Hey, Murdock, you still haven't answered my question. How long are you staying?"

Murdock rose, still facing the TV screen, and slowly turned to reveal an enigmatic expression. He tilted his head downward and looked at Face from the tops of his eyeballs. In a low voice he uttered, "I'll stay until the wind changes."

_So now that you've read the story, I'll admit I don't really think Murdock/Ellen would work in the A-Team universe, but wrote it just for the sake of the plot. Whether you agree with Face and Murdock's evaluations of things is up to you. Please review and let me know whether you liked the story and if it made sense, as well as ways it could be better._

_(Confession: I did have to look up how to spell hors d'oeuvres.)_


End file.
